


IMPACT

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt Seven of Nine, Hurt/Comfort, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 21:12:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11170179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Seven and the Captain are stranded on a barren moon after a shuttle crash





	IMPACT

**Author's Note:**

> Love me some Captain Janeway. It never made sense to me that Seven ended up with Chakotay - if I'd written the series, it would've ended with Seven and the Captain sailing off to explore new galaxies together.

Kathryn came back to consciousness with a jolt. She had no idea where she was – in fact, she couldn’t remember anything of the last day or so. She was certainly not in her own quarters.

Without opening her eyes she ran a quick self-diagnostic; she could wiggle both toes, and make a fist with both hands. It would have to do.

She sat up slowly. Okay, at least one rib was likely broken, probably more. Her head ached dully.

Memories came back in dribs and drabs. The trade mission – the deuterium. The shuttle ride back – the ion storm – the crash – _Seven!_

The spatial distortion had crashed over them like a wave, sending them ass-over-teakettle. They had tumbled into what appeared in the scanners as a rocky moon. Together they had fought to control the descent as best they could, until the barren landscape loomed through the viewscreen. She didn’t remember the impact.

She needed to find Seven. Kathryn braced herself to stand. She realized she was lying half-buried under the rubble of what had once been the control panel, which was now a hopeless wreck of coils and power relays. Vaguely she recalled bracing over it in the last seconds before impact – they must have both been thrown clear.

“Seven! Seven, can you hear me? Answer me.” Kathryn clambered to her feet, grimacing at the sharp protest of her ribs and her left knee, which must have been wrenched in the crash. She was alerted to the next problem by a stinging cold sensation in her side – her hand came away wet. A shard of the casing of the control panel had broken off and was deeply embedded in her flesh.

 _Well, shit,_ thought Kathryn blankly. She was no medical hologram, but that couldn’t be good.

She stretched gingerly, testing her range of motion. She thought it was wedged between what might have been two broken ribs. The pain was minimal, merely an absence of sensation in the whole area of the wound. Adrenaline, most likely. She knew better than to try and extract it – it could be holding in vital organs, to say nothing of blood. More importantly, it didn’t seem to be imminently fatal, so the most important thing was finding Seven. The woman could be nearby and badly hurt.

Still calling out, Kathryn began to limp heavily back in the direction of the debris trail. A part of her, the part that never stopped strategizing, was keeping an eye out for anything salvageable, anything she could use to call Voyager. But most of her attention was on searching for a flash of pale blonde hair or porcelain skin. She was holding her own breath listening for any sound from the other woman.

“Seven! Seven, if you can hear me, answer me.”

Finally she came upon the remains of the main cabin, crumpled almost beyond recognition – and there, sandwiched between the chair and the wall – the deceptively slight form of the woman she was looking for. “Seven!”

Ignoring her own injuries, Kathryn dropped to her knees, gently assessing the prone figure before she attempted to move her. One of Seven’s shoulders was obviously out of joint, the collarbone probably broken. There was already a darkened bruise over her temple and cheek on the left side, and her neck and shoulder were marred with what appeared to be contact burns.

She was unmoving, but Kathryn could see the steady rise of chest. She slipped her fingers to the pulsepoint in her neck and could feel a reassuringly steady pulse. “Seven, can you hear me? Wake up, dear. It’s me, it’s – it’s Captain Janeway.” She chafed Seven’s wrists, gently tapping her unbruised cheek.

To her relief Seven began to stir almost immediately, groaning softly. "Seven?"

"I am here, Captain." Seven turned her face in Kathryn's direction.

"Well, that's a relief."

Seven moved like she was going to try to sit up, but Kathryn’s hand on her shoulder kept her down. "I am - damaged," she said stiffly. There was a certain element to Seven’s voice sometimes that made her sound like a little girl.

Kathryn's fingers found themselves in Seven’s hair, stroking it out of her face. She wondered if Seven would even find such a gesture reassuring – but maybe, somewhere in her subconscious, she still retained memories of being soothed this way as a child. Maybe her mother had stroked her hair after she was tucked into bed at night, or when she had scraped her knee running around their spaceship.

Whatever the reason, it seemed to work. Seven stopped trying to get up and let herself be settled back down.

"The shuttle crashed. Do you remember?"

"I remember nothing," said Seven, obviously frustrated. “My last recollection is of departing Voyager for the Tremalan system.”

“We completed our negotiations and arranged for the deuterium to be delivered to Voyager.” Kathryn felt satisfaction at the thought that, no matter what happened to them, at least Voyager would be able to continue their journey home. “Do you remember trying to steer the shuttle through the ion storm?”

“I was driving?” asked Seven, her eyes widening. She half tried to sit up again, resisting Kathryn’s gently restraining hands, but couldn't complete the motion.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Kathryn hastened to reassure her. “Nobody could have prevented the accident. We’re lucky to be alive.”

“I see. No doubt our survival was due to my performance piloting the craft.”

Kathryn rolled her eyes at the Borg superiority complex.

“Captain, you are injured,” said Seven, her clever hands finding the injury in Kathryn’s side. For the first time, her impassive features registered real distress. A fleeting thought crossed Kathryn’s mind – had the Borg drone graduated to empathy?

Watching Seven’s development had become a source of both pride and wonder to Kathryn over the span of their time together on Voyager. Although she had never been a mother – and accepted that it was likely not to be – Kathryn imagined the experience must be something like the twin sensations of fear and pride.

"We're both a little banged up, hopefully nothing too serious," said Kathryn, gently redirecting her hands. "With any luck we will be able to wait for medical assistance until Voyager finds us."

Of course, there was no guarantee that help was on its way. Voyager wouldn’t realize anything was wrong until they missed their rendezvous point, which might still be several hours away. Then, while she was sure they would begin a search, it would take them many days to track down the shuttle to this particular hunk of interstellar rock, one of hundreds in the crowded system.

“Did you locate the signaling beacon?” asked Seven, seeming to follow her train of thought precisely. "Or the comms system?”

“The debris field goes for miles,” said Kathryn. “I found you first.”

“Now that you have found me, you should continue your search,” said Seven. She was right, and Kathryn knew it – however, that didn’t mean it would be easy to leave Seven unprotected.

There were no life-signs on the planet when they’d scanned but that didn’t always mean there was nothing to fear. And Seven was badly hurt, and could easily slip into shock.

"You're right," said Kathryn reluctantly. "But - it would be best if you tried not to move while I'm gone. We don't know how severe your injuries are."

"I would have advised you the same thing, had I found you first," Seven noted. "At least I have nanobots working to correct any faults in my system." But she didn't try to sit up again, at least.

Kathryn dragged over a bent portion of the port nacelle, to at least offer Seven more shelter from the elements. Then without allowing herself to linger any longer, she turned back to the wreckage of the shuttlecraft.

At first she felt Seven’s eyes following her as she picked through the debris, gathering the parts and pieces that might be useful - but eventually she had to range too far out of sight to find the parts that she needed. She tried to be quick, but it took a long time to collect everything. She couldn't find an undamaged fuel cell until finally she came across the remains of the on-board replicator, which she had to carefully disassemble before retrieving the power source. 

She hurried back with the her haul. Seven was right where she left her, but Kathryn thought her color was worse. Was it her imagination, or were Seven's lips tinged with blue?

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Seven's reply was terse. "I will be fine." 

Kathryn quickly assembled a primitive beacon while Seven appraised her progress without commenting. She supposed that was as close as the Borg came to a compliment.

"There," she said as last, when the device hummed to life and the signal light turned green. "If Voyager scans for us within five lightyears of our location, they’ll find us." And she didn’t doubt that her faithful crew would do just that. Say what you will about the USS Voyager, but they were loyal to each other.

"It will have to do," said Seven, closing her eyes.

"Now. Let’s get you more comfortable while we wait."

"My comfort is  ... irrelevant."

Good old Seven. "Not to me, it's not," said Kathyn softy. "Seven, don't go to sleep. Can you hear me? Stay awake, dearheart."

Seven's eyelids fluttered, but she did not obey her Captain's orders.

Kathryn crawled to her side, wincing as the movement jarred her injured ribs. "You’re freezing," she said, feeling over the arms of Seven’s biosuit. "This wind will give you a chill. I think we’ll have to take the chance of moving you somewhere more sheltered.” She knew it was unwise to move anyone who might have suffered a spinal injury, but in this case it was necessary. She didn't even have a blanket to cover the injured woman with.

Kathryn slid an arm under Seven's knees, and another carefully around her shoulders. Then she pulled her up as deadweight, grunting at the effort. She could remember carrying Kes – childlike, slight little Kes – through the flames of that alien temple. Seven was much more substantial.

"Captain," murmured Seven.

"Hush now, you're fine," said Kathryn. Something in her chest shifted as turned, but she pushed through, carrying Seven over to the bent wing of the shuttlecraft, which was folded over now almost like a tent.

She crawled halfway in herself, then dragged Seven carefully after her. It was a tight fit, but that just meant better protection from the elements.

Kathryn settled the other woman between her legs, resting her head against Kathryn’s chest, just below her chin. Seven was passing in and out of consciousness now, and Kathryn didn’t try to keep her awake. Just stroked the silken hair, shushing the younger woman when she stirred.

“It’s alright, Seven,” she whispered. “You can sleep if you need to.” If Voyager didn’t detect their beacon there was little to gain from consciousness – no food, no water, little shelter, deadly conditions. And Seven was badly hurt already. Maybe it was better that she should drift to sleep in the arms of the woman who loved – _cared about her,_ Kathryn corrected herself – cared about her the way a good captain cared about any member of her crew. Of course.

From their new position she could still see the green light of the improvised beacon, promising rescue.

She closed her eyes, letting her head drop over Seven's.

**\---**

A hand on her shoulder – too tight.

All she knew was that she’d fallen asleep with Seven in her arms, and woken up without her. A few quick blows and the intruder was incapacitated – Kathryn slid off the platform and down to the floor.

"Where is Seven?"

“Kathryn! It’s me, it’s Chakotay. You’re safe.”

“She is disoriented,” said a calm voice. “She may respond better to me, as I have known her longer.”

This was no time for a pissing contest, Kathryn reflected, opening her eyes. “Tuvoc – Chakotay.”

She straightened slowly, pleased to find that she was able to do so without pain. When she raised a hand to her ribs there was no evidence they had ever been damaged at all.

“Captain. You were badly hurt in a shuttle accident. The doctor has been able to repair your injuries.”

"Sorry for the rough awakening,” said Kathryn, her voice gravelly. She put a reassuring hand on Chakotay’s shoulder. “How’s Seven?”

“You were injured almost as badly as she was,” said Chakotay, shaking his head. He was rubbing his chest, just about the height of her best elbow strike. "Maybe you could spare some concern for yourself sometime."

“But she is alright?”

"Perhaps it would be best to allow to you check for yourself," said Tuvoc dryly, directing her attention to the biobed behind her.

God bless Vulcan practicality.

“Seven,” Kathryn murmured. All the wounds had been healed, but Seven was still unconscious. Carefully, using her body to block her actions from sight, Kathryn moved a blonde lock out of the Borg’s face.

“The doctor says she will need time to rest, but that she should make a full recovery,” reported Tuvoc.

“Good ... that's good.”

Still out of view of her first officers, Kathryn slipped her fingers into Seven’s and squeezed gently. _Get well soon, dearheart_.

The sight of her regular features, relaxed into natural repose, her undamaged skin flushed lovely pink - it was enough, thought Kathryn. Enough to know that she was alive and healthy, and still growing closer to the extraordinary woman she would soon become.

She turned back to her men. "Status report," she demanded.

The work of a captain was never done. 

 


End file.
